Everything is Connected
by x-hanna-x
Summary: [ SMacked ] and a little DL. Stella is trying to sort out her growing feelings for Mac, but it seems as if she's too late. Possible SE3 spoilers coming, but none as of yet. Much as I love DL, SM need more stories under their name! NEW CHAPTER 6
1. The Beginning

_**Disclaimer: Sadly yet obviously, I own nothing, and so on. They're all property of Anthony Zuiker and Jerry Bruckheimer and all those good people. I don't know who. You know the drill. The song lyrics are from Ben Harper's 'Walk Away' used in SE3E09 'And Here's To You, Mrs. Azrael.' Because it's beautiful.**_

'_They say if you love somebody than you have got to set them free,_

_but_ _I would rather be locked to you than live in this pain and misery._

_They say time will make all this go away. '_

I watched the sun descend past the Manhattan skyline from the lab in the third time in as many nights. The shift to a softer light over the city did nothing to dull the bright lights of the office, or to lessen the buzz of noise behind me. I sighed heavily, and turned to the glass board on the other side of the room, wandering away from the window. It feels as if I've been staring at it for hours, and as the words blur in and out of focus, I realise this is not far from the truth. The suspects' names, confirmed DNA results and CODIS print outs have all merged into a swirl of meaningless characters and I feel exactly as I did two hours ago; that I'm missing something and I just don't know _what_. All I can think of is how much that one candid picture looks like Frankie, and, though I know it's just paranoia, I give an involuntary shudder every time my gaze rests on the innocuous paper.

'Stella?' There's a belated tap on the glass door, and Mac walks in. 'How's it going?' I sit down on the cool desk, resting my hands on the papers strewn across it. Mac's the orderly one, but it's common knowledge in the lab that my desk is a danger zone, though I insist there's a method to it all. No one believes me.

'Yeah, it's fine. Y'know Mac, there's something here, there really is. I just can't quite… get to it. She's just so traumatised, she lost her sister, I feel guilty making her even talk about it. It's just my _job_, and I know that bastard did it but I can't pin him down…' Even I can hear the note of defeatism in my voice, and I mentally check myself for it. He just watches me with those calm, clear blue eyes. Like most CSIs, he's an expert at maintaining a neutral façade, but I know him well enough to see that his mind is working fast, and I can almost predict his next words.

'Stella, how long have you been at this Sanderson case now? Ending a double shift, and it's been, what, 5 or 6 hours since you've even had a break? Come and get some coffee. We'll talk it out.' My heart skips slightly, pounding against my chest. It's been a couple of months now. I've been ignoring the feeling, but I can't remain oblivious to it forever. _No. Not now, not him._ I'm not ready, not after Frankie. Besides, he's my colleague and he's… well, he's… I realise I've been staring at him for a good ten seconds, and I quickly formulate some half sane reply.

'Uh, no, really Mac, don't worry about it.'

'Come on Stell, did you even have any dinner?' I blink, blankly. 'Lunch? _Breakfast_?' He continues. 'Stella, come on, there's a little thing called food, do you remember that? Rest, sleep, anything ringing any bells?' Behind his teasing half-smile I can almost feel the comfort of his concern. _No Stella_, I tell myself. _Dangerous area._ _Don't start the whole vulnerability thing now_.

'Honestly Mac, I ate. I ate… um, earlier.' I make a move to stand and walk over to him, but suddenly the room sways, and white fuzz plays at the corners of my eyes. I stumble, blink it away, and try to shake it off with a bright smile, but Mac isn't standing at the door anymore. I feel a strong, sure arm around my waist and hand holding my arm. We make eye contact and a shiver passes down my spine. Sometimes I honestly wonder if it's just me…

'Stella, come on. As your boss I demand you come and let me buy you something to eat, right now. Even if it's just a sandwich and some coffee. You're not going to be any help to anyone passed out on the floor.' His brusque, caring tone settles around me like a blanket, and I give a small nod of assent.

'Thanks, Mac.' We move to go, but then Mac's phone rings. I catch a quick glimpse of the caller ID before he brings it up to his ear. _Peyton._ I remember why my unprofessional thoughts are so impossible. He answers.

'Hi Peyton. Yeah, I know, sorry about last night, the case just took over… Well, I'm with Stella at the moment, maybe…' He looks over to me, questioning in his eyes. I know he's torn between wanting to spend time with her, and fulfilling his kind gesture to me. A quick pang shoots through me as I make consenting motions with my hands, and mouth to him.

'_Go on, I'll be fine._' He nods, and arranges a place with her, Peyton, before hanging up.

'You promise me you'll get something to eat, I'm walking you down there myself.' I nod. 'And Stella? You'll get this case. I know you will.' Slipping his phone into his pocket, he turns and walks out of the door. Realising I'm still standing there, he looks back.

'Are you coming?' _Of course I am. I always am._

'Yeah, sure.'

I follow him to the elevator, and we glide down in a strange silence. He turns and waves at me, then steps outside to hail a cab. I watch him go.

_**So, that's the first instalment. I hope you enjoyed it. Click that magic button. I'm a review junkie, I really am.**_


	2. A Two Person Job

_**Disclaimer: As ever, nothing is mine. Do I have to keep putting this at the beginning of each chapter? It's not like it's EVER going to be mine. I'm new, I don't know these things. Wise words appreciated. And onwards.**_

'_And it hurts me to look into the mirror at myself, _

and it hurts even more to have to be with somebody else.

And it's so hard to do and so easy to say.'

She opened the door, smiling, as always. I could feel the warm air radiating from the apartment, contrasting with the icy atmosphere from outside, which rasped in my lungs every time I took a breath. She had been cooking. I could still see something of a tomato-like description bubbling on the stove. And I still wanted to go back outside. I shook my head, and stepped in.

'Why hello, Detective Taylor.' She was wrapping her arms around my neck, running her fingers through my hair. I kissed her briefly, then turned away and walked in. There was a minute of hurt and confusion in her eyes. I felt bad for admitting to myself that I wanted to hit her for it. _No _I told myself. _You love her, you do. Don't take it out on her._

'Sorry, Peyton. It's just… rough day.' I suddenly find myself wishing I never left Stella. I knew her well enough to be sure she'd stick around at the lab until the last possible moment, and I thought of her weary eyes, graceful legs reduced to jerkily stumbling forward. Almost falling. _She's a big girl. She can look after herself. You're with Peyton. Peyton._

'It's Stella isn't it? Mac? Hello?' I blinked, momentarily nonplussed, and turned to her. There was a hint of impatience in her face, and one hand rose to her hip as she waited for an answer.

'Well, yes. She just… it's a case. How did you know?' It was dangerous territory. Peyton was possessive, proud. She could be a petulant child sometimes, jealous of the seven years Stella and I have spent together. I mentally admonished myself for thinking of her in such a disparaging way; there are so many good things about her. Though I have explained to her, so many times. Stella's a friend. A close friend, a valued friend. A _friend._

'It's always her, Mac.' I bridged the gap between us, mentally angered at myself for this primitive way out of the problem. There was a nagging seed of wisdom at the base of my skull, telling me I had to fix this properly, that propinquity might satisfy her now, but not forever. But as I wrapped my arms around her the doubt dissipated, and all I could feel was warmth. She held me, tightly, and I looked into her eyes. They were deep, pooling eyes. I tried to speak to her with my own. _I'm here. I chose you today._

* * *

Late. It was very late. I was awake, but my eyes were closed, and all I could see were vague impressions of lurking shadows. I shifted slightly, feeling soft leather, and meaning… that I was on the couch in the break room. Slowly it came back to me. I had come down here to get coffee, sat down to wait for the machine… that was when? 7:00? I opened my eyes.

Squinting at the clock on the wall, I could see it was 2:36 in the morning. I sat up quickly, brushing my hair away from my face. Someone had covered me with a thin blanket, and my shoes were neatly lined up at the foot of the sofa. I slipped them on, and wandered out of the room, mentally gathering myself. In the midst of the night shift it was unlikely that I would find a hive of activity, but there should at least be a couple of techs and CSIs… Disorientated, I walked into the lab. No one, but a beaker of distilled water upset on the counter. I sighed, and walked over to the supply closet to get a cloth… and I heard whispering. Wait, what? Slowly, I pulled open the door. A broad smile broke across my face.

'Stella! Um… hi?' Lindsay squeaked.

'We were just… erm. Cleaning up, y'know. Reorganizing.' Danny cleared his throat, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair. I tried to force the smile off my face, and put my hands on my hips in mock irritation as Lindsay surreptitiously adjusted her top. They were probably the most stubborn couple I knew.

'Cleaning up, huh? Now that _does_ sound like a two-person-in-a-dark-supply-closet kinda job.' I raised my eyebrows, and was met with blushes. 'Well, I might have to tell Mac about this…'

'No! Please Stella, we –' I cut Lindsay off, laughing.

'It's okay, carry on! Who am I to judge? I should be getting home' I swung round, and sauntered out of the lab, ignoring their stammered denials. 'Besides,' I called over my shoulder, my voice rising over theirs, 'Mac knows everything anyway!' _Almost_ everything. Laughing to myself, I left them to it. I couldn't help but feel a little pang. Not of envy, but of… what? Wistfulness? Sadness? They were … _so_ lucky.

'Stella?' I turned to see Mac's head and shoulders leaning out of his office.

'Mac? What are you doing here? It's almost three in the morning!' His eyes shifted from me, and I knew. 'Can't sleep?' He didn't answer. I knew. I walked over to him. 'Why aren't you at Peyton's?' I knew. Or, I wish I knew.

'Oh, we had dinner.' My heart dropped. 'She had to get up early so… I tried to go home, somehow ended up here.' I studied him, quizzically. Sometimes I thought his insomnia bothered me more than it did him. He filled the void with work, and had learned to get along, in his own abstract way. I tried so hard to take his weight. Be strong for him. I felt guilty, thinking back to the episode of earlier that day. And it had to have been him who found me, covered me, and took off my shoes. _I_ was supposed to be strong. For _him_. There was a moment of awkwardness. I hated it.

'Stella? Did you ever get coffee?' There was no point lying. He knew me.

'Come on.' I gave him a warm smile. 'I'm buying. Let's see if I can make it through one whole cup this time. It can be like a personal challenge.' He laughed, flicked off his light, and came to join me. We feel in step. All I wanted to do was grab his hand.

**_Got a little bit of D/L in there for ya._** **_And more to come, as well as SMacked goodness. Hope you enjoyed it._**


	3. The Day After

_**Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, still not mine, never going to be mine. I should really do these disclaimers more accurately. Ah well. Judging by the number of reviews compared to the number of hits on the last chapter, I am being read but not reviewed. What can I say; I can't make anyone do anything! But please review me if you have the time, because I shall love you forever. And do anything. Shameless grovelling. This isn't really a disclaimer any more. Okay, shh.**_

'_They say time will make all this go away, _

but it's time that has taken my tomorrows

and turned them into yesterdays.'

I had to admit, I couldn't keep my mind on the paperwork. It was ten in the morning, late by my standards, but I was running on about an hour's sleep after talking with Stella last night, over endless cups of coffee. Since Peyton, we haven't talked as much as we used to; I forgot how she's one of the few people who can really make me laugh.

'Mac?' Danny strolls into my office, in his usual nonchalant way. Inwardly I smile, because one of the things Stella and I talked about last night was the lab's latest news. Honestly, relationships in the lab aren't really frowned upon, but as long as Danny still thinks they are it means he'll keep doing his job. Besides, as evil as it may be, I love to tease him.

'Hi Danny. Listen, have you seen Lindsay lately?'

'Lindsay? Um, no. Not since last night. I mean, not that I saw her last night. I mean, we were on the nightshift. But just, y'know, working. Not… anything else.' I can't help but raise my eyebrows; he's hopeless when he's guilty.

'Working at work,' I remark archly. 'That's a novelty.' He flushes berry red, and I decide to offer him a safety line. 'Anyway, what was it you wanted?'

'Oh right.' He adjusts his glasses and continues. 'Got a homicide call out on Lexington, so I'm going with Flack and Stella.' I nod, surprised to glance outside and see Stella herself, vibrant and smiling, chatting amicably to Adam. I don't understand how she does that, if anything she got less sleep than I did last night. I suppose we both hide it well. Danny walks out, and through the glass wall I see Stella turn, say something that could quite possibly be '_Ready to go?' _and move to leave. I watch her laughingly nudge Danny into the wall, and see him try to retaliate. She's too quick, dodging him and dashing to fetch her kit. My eyes swing to the photograph of Peyton on my desk. Peyton, Peyton my girlfriend. _Peyton_.

It's almost three hours of tedium later when I get the phone call.

'Mac? It's Don, listen, got a situation. It's Stella. She's hurt, not badly, but I think you'd better –' I cut him off while shoving my arms into my jacket. In five seconds I'm out the door.

* * *

'Flack, Danny, I'm _fine_. Seriously, stop fussing at me.' I breathe slowly, trying to stem the adrenaline coursing through me. It's taking all of my willpower to stop from shaking, and I don't like to call attention to it, but I can feel blood seeping through the bandages on my arm. I'm sitting in the back of the ambulance that I insisted was not necessary, doors open and legs crossed in what I hope is a casual fashion. I'm freezing.

'Stella, don't. I don't care if you're as strong as goddamn Goliath, as soon as Mac gets here you're going to the ER to get that properly bandaged and checked over.' Danny scans the crowd milling around the crime scene tape, and finally fixates on a dark figure pushing his way towards us. 'Mac's not going to like this.' Danny's muttering under his breath. He's getting closer.

'What do you mean?'

'Being the guy who didn't save you from a crazed attacker? Knowing how _Mac_ feels? I'm a dead man.' What? Knowing _what_? I'm about to ask him, tugging urgently on his sleeve, when Mac's beside me and suddenly it's too late. It's probably nothing.

'Stella. Stell.' I'm standing, and there's just one moment when he's holding me, clinging tightly, and I can hear his breathing and feel his heartbeat. I calm down, feeling my heart rate slowing. It's okay. Then I'm sitting back down, and I can see the anger flashing in his eyes. It's barely perceptible, but I can read him. 'What happened?'

It's the moment I've been dreading, because no matter how close we are, I know he's going to be angry. So angry. I try to breathe deeply, talk rationally. 'Listen, Mac, it's not how it seems. I know it looks like reckless behavior, but it was in extenuating circumstances!'

'Go on.' His tone is measured, unreadable.

'I had just finished bagging the evidence. Homicide, female, mid-thirties. It was all _there_ in the box, and I was just thinking, it's going to be so easy to get this guy, and I was just leaving…' I take a big gulp of air. It's harder, somehow, harder than I thought. 'I was… just standing up. And then there's this knife at my throat, and a hand on my back. He told me… he told me to pass back the box, close my eyes and wait. So…' This is what I'm dreading. I gabble it, fast. 'So I reach for the box, change my hand's direction, grab my Glock and swing round to fire, and I got him, Mac, I got him, but he got my arm with the knife when he felt me move.' I can see the anger etched into his face. 'I had enough in that box to convict him for life, Mac! He was desperate, he didn't care what happened to me!'

'Stella, it's not important, a box isn't worth that!'

'I know, I know but-'

'Do you even realise what could have happened?' His voice is rising. 'What if he was quicker, and that knife had hit target and…' He tails off. 'You're shivering.' He's right. 'Take my jacket. Danny, Flack, get her to the hospital.' Warm, soft material has been draped round my shoulders, and he's turned. I see the hard lines of his shoulders retreating, as he moves to talk to some non-descript police officer. I know it's not over. I'm numb. I'm somehow in a car, and there's a slam of a door, and we're speeding away. _Not alone, not alone, not alone_…

'What? Stell?' I blink, blankly, and finally register Danny beside me. I must have been muttering.

'Nothing.'

* * *

She stands at my door the next morning. I look up, taking her in. I asked her here, and I know she's assuming that she's going to be yelled at. I can see why she'd think so. But she's there, with her chin jutting defiantly and her back straight, and even through her slim arm is bulked by bandages and I can see a little something hunted about her eyes, she radiates strength. I know her well enough to know that it's mostly bravado, and I just want to pull her into my arms and stop her hurt… wait? _No_, I tell myself. _You have Peyton_. Inwardly, I know I haven't really got a leg to stand on here, because I would have done exactly the same thing as Stella did yesterday. _And_, I realise, _she knows that_. Arguing with Stella is usually stimulating, entertaining even. When I say 'no' to someone, I mean it. Except with her, I mentally add on 'unless you can change my mind.' I don't even mind losing to her. So I didn't bring her here to argue today.

* * *

I sit down in the chair opposite his desk. Mac Taylor reprimands are legendary, and I've been counting myself lucky to have thus far escaped them. I try a tentative smile, just to test the water, and to my surprise, it's returned.

'Stella, I didn't call you in here to yell at you.' What? I stare at him, tilting my head to one side. Am I losing my perception here? 'I know yelling at you wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference.' I laugh, gratefully. It's a relief, because now I can relax, not be on my guard. We can be normal again.

'So, what are you going to do?'

'Just tell you… tell you that I feel as if I aged yesterday. I know, the wound isn't serious by general standards. But it could have been. I need you to focus on that. The cases, that's what we're here for. And we don't want them compromised. But what we really don't want compromised is you. I mean, all the CSIs.' He's making sense. 'So what if we'd let that one case slip? It would have been worth a million cases to keep you safe.' There's a little pull on something deep inside me, but he's moved past it, still waiting. I reply.

'You're right, Mac. And… I'm sorry about all the trouble it caused.' I just became conscious of the fact that I apologized, and admitted I was wrong. _Wow. He's good. _He's smiling as he watches me figure it out.

'And that is why I didn't shout at you.' He walks over to me, and I stand. 'May I see?' I nod in assent. Gently, he pulls back the bandage on my arm, and I wince slightly. His cool, dry fingers gently move round the swollen flesh surrounding the incision, and I close my eyes. Breathe in.

'It's not so deep. Does it hurt?' I shake my head; no.

It doesn't hurt.

_**Slightly longer chapter – I hope that's a good thing. You know which button to press. )**_


	4. One Night in New York

_**Disclaimer: Nothing but nothing belongs to me. It's property of CBS and the CSI writers and the creators and all that jazz. –steals their talent and runs for the hills-**_

_**I'm sorry it's been so long.**_

'_And once again that rising sun is droppin' on down _

And once again, you my friend, are nowhere to be found.

And it's so hard to do and so easy to say.'

I could still feel his fingers brushing my arm as I left his office, adjusting my jacket in a way that probably led our co-workers to believe he was outperforming his duties as a concerned boss. I didn't care; honestly, I wished he _was_. I completed menial, lab confined tasks for the rest of the day, just to show willing. My plan was to go right back into the field as soon as I could manage to escape the iron watch of everyone around me. They treated me like I was about to snap, as if a misplaced touch or an overly zealous question could cause me to have some sort of breakdown. It really wasn't like that. I mean, obviously it wasn't literally, but not metaphorically either. I have learnt to be strong, and this is way down on the list of things I have endured. Since infancy, I have had a very hard time opening up to people, and letting myself be vulnerable. I hate the way it makes me feel… invaded. I barely ever cry and there's only a select few I let in. Mac is my chosen confidante… but now, he didn't want to know. It's a bitter irony that brings a twisted smile to my lips throughout the day, as I do the things I've done a thousand times before; running evidence through the mass spec, comparing striations from IBIS and a grocery store shooting, chatting with Sheldon tentatively about the latest case, wandering down to autopsy to be creeped out by Sid. Nothing else has changed.

When I get off my uneventful shift, I am surprised to find the night cold, but somehow invitingly beautiful. I snuggle deep into my coat and scarf, and decide to walk a few blocks before hailing a cab. The noise of the city settles around me, and I find myself scanning everyone else wandering around on the pavement, as has become almost a second nature to my inquisitive mind. I smile faintly at the couple a few metres ahead of me: they're intertwined at the elbow and laughing quietly at something. They look utterly comfortable with each other. Actually, they remind me of… wait, no? Her light brown curls swing round her shoulders as she turns, laughs, and it's unquestionable.

'Lindsay?' I call, hesitantly. '_Danny?_' They jolt to a stop, leaving them standing stock still in the pavement, while irritated passers-by steer round them. Slowly, painfully, they turn. It takes all my self control to stop from clapping my hands in glee. 'Well, fancy seeing you here… after hours… ten blocks from the lab… not working… _together_.' Danny wriggles uncomfortably. 'Now _this_, this is what we call evidential proof. I wonder if I can keep a secret, y'know, savour a little office gossip for myself? It doesn't seem too likely.' Lindsay is composing herself, and Danny looks to be in almost physical pain.

'Stella, honestly it's…'

'Not what it looks like?' I interrupt Lindsay. 'Now, where have I heard that before?' I stop, feeling mean. They were my friends. And besides, Flack's going to give them enough grief as it is. I walk closer, putting my arm round Lindsay and grinning at Danny. 'Seriously though. Good for you. Someone should be happy around here.' I sound too sorry for myself, and I try to end with a breezy 'Have a good night.' As I walk away I hear Danny muttering behind me to Lindsay.

'Should we tell her?'

'No, no it's not our place. She'll find out on her own.' Lindsay replies. I keep walking, but my curiosity is definitely piqued.

It's five blocks later when I decide to admit defeat to the wind biting through my scarf and tearing my hair from its confines. I was just about to hail a cab when my eyes rested on the bright restaurant across the street. Sitting at an intimate table by the window is another couple, another couple I recognize. One of those dark heads bowed towards a flickering candle and some watchful eyes is one I know very well. Her hand rests on his, and she brushes a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. Dark, straight hair that pools gently on the tablecloth. Dark, straight, glossy hair that he runs his hands through. I flinch, and turn away.

* * *

She's gazing intently at me, her fingers caressing my palm, brushing the cotton of my shirt sleeve. She is laughing her pretty, tinkling laugh at something, I don't know what, and launching into some story or another. I can't help feeling uncomfortable, conspicuous here, and I'm glancing around the room. I'm totally on edge, and I can see it's beginning to irritate her. Gazing out the window I catch sight of a slim woman getting into a cab across the street. I can only see the back of her head, but the brunette curls and graceful neck remind me unmistakably of… 

'Stella?'

'It's Peyton, actually.' She's rightfully annoyed, and I snap back to present, meeting her cool blue eyes across the table.

'Sorry,' I try to force a laugh. It sounds sick and strained. 'Of course, I know, it's just… I thought I saw Stella across the street. After the accident, she shouldn't be walking around this late on her own…' I tail off once again, watching the cab draw away. I turn back to my date to see genuine sadness in her downcast eyes, and I feel sorry. She's a good person.

'I'm so sorry Peyton, it's just… Stella.' The word hangs between us. She rests her chin in her hands and replies quietly, sadly.

'It always is.' I open my mouth to correct her, answer back defiantly, but the words stick in my throat. What can I say?

_**Hope you liked it, and sorry it's quite short. The length and speed of the chapters is proportional to the numbers of reviews x**_


	5. Wishes and Wine Glasses

_**Disclaimer: Yeah, it's still not mine. Mac and Stella belong to each other, not to me. And the others, well, CBS and the franchise own them. **_

'_You just have to walk away - walk away and head for the door. _

We've tried the goodbye so many days.

We walk in the same direction so that we could never stray.'

We're at her apartment again. It seems pointless, us always coming back here, when it never goes the way it should. The way she thinks it should. I think back to that awkward dinner, mentally slapping myself round the head for mentioning Stella. It's my sticking point with Peyton. I stand, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. The door is still open behind me, and there's a draft whipping round my neck. It's nothing compared to her; she's slamming around the place like a whirlwind, dropping her coat and bag, opening and shutting cupboards. I don't even know what she's looking for, and I'm becoming more and more certain that I can't give it to her. Finally she takes up a position in the middle of the room, arms folded and eyes blazing. She is staring at me.

'Shut the door.' I shut it, and walk slowly closer to her. Okay. Time to argue my way out of a corner.

'Look, Peyton -'

'No, _you_ look!' She cuts me off. 'I'm not going to go into this again, because it's pointless and childish. But it's not like it's just her Mac, it's everything. You're just not all there, and I know it's hard with your job and with … with her. And with what happened to … to Claire.' I think this is the first time I've heard her say her name out loud, and it sounds wrong, coming from her mouth. I can't bear to hear it somehow. She, my Claire, can't be associated with something that has gone so wrong. I think she realises it's not right for her to go there, because she flushes, and pauses before continuing. 'But Mac, none of that is my fault, and I just can't cope with … having you, but not really having you? You know?' There are tears standing in her eyes, and yet again I feel sinfully guilty for hurting her. 'I need to know. Are you committed to this? Otherwise, that's just it.' The thought of being alone. It washes over me, and it's cold. I feel it, clutching at me. I can't be alone. Not again.

'Peyton. I love you.' It feels wrong, saying it. But I find myself not caring. I'm tired, too tired. Fatigue has settled into me, and I just want to get out of this uncomfortable situation. 'I have to go, okay? I just … I have to go.' Her face had lit up, but as I turn I catch a glimpse of disappointment sketched onto her features. I don't care any the moment. I just turn, close the door. There's a soft _click_ of the latch, and I'm hurrying down the stairs, leaving the building, turning left. It's past eleven at night, and my eyes are dry and aching. But I need to slow my mind, distract it, and trick it into routine. I'm going to the lab.

* * *

My forehead is resting against my locker. It's cool, and solid, and I'm trying to order my thoughts. I told the cab to take me back to the lab, which was crazy. It's late, very late, and I'm not on night shift. After a day of sitting around, after seeing them together in the restaurant, I couldn't be at home. I didn't want to just sit there, because I knew everything would run around in my head until I was dizzy and holding back tears. I wanted to distract myself with work, but now I'm here I realise I have no work to do. But even the soft hum of nightshift drones drifting through the lab comforts me. I didn't want to be alone.

'Stella?' I spin round, startled.

'_Mac?_ I thought you were with Peyton.' I notice my mistake as soon as the words slip out, but he doesn't seem to notice. His face is clouded, and his fingers are pressed against his temple. I just want to walk over, wrap him in my arms and try to take his pain for him.

'We, uhm. We fought.' My tiny bubble of elation is burst when I see the look on his face, and I don't want him to be unhappy. I know him, and he can't take this right now. I take a deep breath, and draw myself up.

'Mac, I know full well you haven't got any work to do, and neither have I.' It's unspoken, but I know he couldn't sleep if he tried. He doesn't want to be alone. 'Come back to my place, we'll open a bottle of wine and just talk. Or just sit, y'know, if that's your preference.' His eyes meet mine, and I feel as if I can read his mind. _Thank you_. I walk over to him, threading my arm through his. Exhaustion lies in the lines of his face, drawn heavy into the bags under his eyes, reflected into the downturn of his lips. Neither one of us speaks on the cab ride over to my apartment, but it's not an uncomfortable silence. It wraps round us like a blanket.

* * *

We're sitting on her couch, and it's the kind of late when the world around you starts to feel disconnected and blurry. That has a lot to do with the fact that we've gone through about three bottles of wine between us; they lie, discarded on her coffee table. I'm drinking to forget, and about an hour ago I would have discerned that she was doing the same thing. But now I don't have the awareness to see that anymore, and all I know is that we're both drunk, and that my head's whirring, and I'm very aware of Stella's head resting on my shoulder, cushioned by a heap of curls. If I was sober enough to care, I'd feel that deep, gnawing guilt that I felt with Peyton, for being far more comfortable with Stella than with my girlfriend. But I hope I'm not sober enough. That was the point. I know full well that I'm denying myself. I'm a lot less drunk than I'd wish to be.

She's had more to drink than me, I'm beginning to see that. With her slight frame and weakness for red wine, it's a wonder she's even awake at this point. She moves from her nook on my shoulder. My vision sharpens as she turns to me. She's sitting, cross legged and barefoot, wearing her slacks and a t-shirt. Her hair is mussed, her cheeks rosy from wine. I just want to hug her. But that must be the drink talking.

'Mac. Oh Mac.' Her speech is slurred, and she lets out a giggle. 'Y'know, I'm real good at keeping secrets.' For some reason she seems to find this utterly hilarious, and bursts into laughter. I can't help smiling, she's sweet when she's drunk, and when she laughs her green eyes sparkle.

'I'm sure you are Stella.' I decide to humour her, and see where's she's going.

'But Mac. Mac, Mac Taylor. Because you –' here she stops, and places a finger gently on my chest, 'you are my best friend, I'm going to tell you a secret.' I smile at her, and she lets her hand drop. 'I've been keeping for ages and ages. It feels like years, but it might not be, because I don't really know what time it is.' She smiles up at me. 'You promise you won't get mad?'

'At the moment, I don't think I could ever be mad at you.' She is looking up at me, and suddenly her eyes seem to darken, and some of her bright smile slips from her face. I have the unsurpassable feeling that suddenly this secret is real, not some drunken story, and that maybe, just maybe, she shouldn't tell me after all. 'Stella, wait –'

'Shh.' She places a finger to my lips, and they tingle. 'Let me speak.' I nod.

'Mac Taylor, I … I love you.' A blissful look spreads across her face, and her finger slips from my lips as she finally passes out, falling into my lap.

_**Reviews please, and I shall love you forever x **_


	6. In the Cold Light of Day

_**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. And, since we're past the first five chapters and sort of at a turning point, the song is going to change, because I feel I've used that one as much as I can without repeating myself. Not that you actually care, but I do! Which is why we've changed to 'How to Save a Life' by The Fray (there should be one person reading this who understands the significance… yes, you!) And on we go.**_

'_Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend,_

_Somewhere along in the bitterness._

_And I would have stayed up with you all night.'_

Pain. Oh my god, _pain_. My head is throbbing madly and my eyes aren't even open yet. My injured arm is throbbing; I've been lying on it. I chance squinting at the clock on my bedside table, and immediately regret it. Light filters into my head, sending a fresh wave of agony through me. My mouth feels like it's full of sand. Slowly, wincing, I open my dry eyes and begin to piece together the situation. Okay, I'm in bed, good start. The blankets are tangled up around my legs, which are bare. I seem to be wearing my massively oversized grey t-shirt over the underwear I was wearing… yesterday?

The fog in my brain begins to clear as I sit up, and take a sip from a large glass of water next to the clock. I have no idea how it got there. Okay, what do I remember? The night begins to edge back to me. Frames of my evening slowly work into my head. I remember seeing Mac with her. I remember getting into a cab. Where did I go? The lab, okay, and then I saw Mac, and then I invited him back here…

I stop, puzzled. I've reached a blank. Shivering slightly, I slip out of my bed and wander through to the living room. There are a few empty red wine bottles and my favourite crystal glasses, which explain the fact that my brain feels like it's going to drop out of my skull. I smile slightly; Mac always teases me about my complete weakness with too much wine. Mac. The smile disappears as suddenly something is released and images come flooding back to me. Mac on the sofa. Mac smiling at me. Mac listening when I said… I said… I start to shake, standing half naked in the middle of the living room. Harsh, cold light from the window pools onto my legs, my torso, catches in my hair. I remember. I _remember_.

_Oh God. No. What have I done?_

* * *

It's an hour later, and I'm dressed, sitting cross legged on my sofa. I had a cold shower, and though I can't face food yet I've downed multiple cups of coffee with a couple of aspirin. It's nearly 9:00, and I know it's time for me to get to the lab. After my accidental overtime I could probably get away with being late… The though hangs in my mind for only a second, because I know I have to face Mac sooner or later, and putting it off will only exacerbate the situation. Logical Stella is coming through me here, and it's a good job, because Absolutely-Terrified-And-Kicking-Herself Stella is panicking about losing him, for good this time. I ignore the second Stella, thrust my arms into my coat, and walk purposefully out the door.

* * *

I'm going through the motions, but my head is spinning. She loves me? _She_ loves _me_? I'm staring into space, arms resting on the case files on my desk. Ever since last night I can't take my mind off her. Her face is swimming in front of my eye when they close, her voice echoing through my head when they open. I want to talk to her… but I don't. What if it was just a drunken mistake? What if it's true? What if… what if it's not true? I have no idea what I want, but I know I should stay away from her until I do know. The last thing on earth I want is to accidentally destroy this. I have Peyton. I don't know what I want. I need time.

I don't have time. I look up, through the stupid, pointless glass walls of my office, and she's there. Her back is to me, and she's talking to Sheldon. I marvel at how together she looks, considering the state she was in last night when I carried her into her bed. Everything about her cries _strength_ but I see her differently now, now that I've seen her in weakness. She finishes talking to Sheldon, and he turns and heads towards me. I quickly look down, trying to engage myself in whatever work is lying in front of me, but it's pointless because three seconds later he's tapping on the door, then entering my office. I look up at him.

'Hey, Mac? Got a call out up town, so Stella and I are off, okay?'

'See you later.' I nod to him to try and make up for the curt reply, and he smiles and ducks out the door. I stare at their backs as they leave, willing for Stell to turn back to look at me. But she doesn't, she doesn't, and they're gone.

* * *

It's easier than I thought it would be. I pretend like everything's normal, and as long as I don't see or think too much about Mac, then it kind of is. Of course, that's easier said than done, and sometimes I can feel it coming back to me in waves, and I have to close my eyes to block it out. I've seen Sheldon darting a few inquiring looks my way; being one of the most sensitive people I've met for a long time makes him an expert at detecting when things aren't quite right. I try to shake him off with bright smiles and mediocre jokes, and soon he's laughing too. Before I know it we've reached the crime scene.

It's a non-descript apartment block, and on the third floor we find our crime scene. The room we walk into is plainly furnished, painted white. The thick, dark curtains are closed, but a standing lamp in the corner is on, dimly illuminating a floor scattered with shattered glass. We walk over to see a girl with long, dark hair and a porcelain pale face, lying face up in a pool of blood and wearing nothing but a little silk nightdress. Her eyes are open.

'Looks like a gun shot wound to the head, plain and simple,' Sheldon remarks, as we carefully pick over what appears to be a broken vase. There's a bottle of pills on the table, and I slip on a pair of gloves to examine the label. That's when I hear a faint _click_.

'M.E. should be here soon, but looking at the blood pool it doesn't look like she's-'

'Hawkes,' I cut him off, straining my ears. 'Listen, can you hear that?' _Click_. He hears it, and nods, pressing his finger to his lips. We both wait. _Click_. Puzzled, I turn on the spot, scanning the room, wondering what could possibly be –

'Stella.' My eyes widen, as Hawkes points to a black duffel bag in the corner of the room, which seems utterly out of place. We instinctively turn to leave, quickly, now, when it happens.

There's a huge, roaring wall of sound that slams into me, and I'm screaming, and it's dark, and I hear Hawkes scream 'Stella!'

Then pain, oh my god, _pain_, washes over me and it's black. And it's silent.


End file.
